The OC Albums: Isabelle
by Omnitrix 12
Summary: Most know her as Isabelle Moonbeamer, wife if Xavier Moonbeamer and one of the members of the hot music group VIXEN. But before she met her husband or took up music, her life was not so simple... and far more bitter than sweet. A troubled family, an absent father, and cruelty only children could devise. By popular vote, this is part two of The OC Albums.


'Ragged Is as ragged does.' Heaven only knew how many times it had been uttered behind grown-ups' backs. It was a barbed composition of childhood cruelty; the terrible offspring of young imagination and sharp wits harshly used.

What made it ten times worse was that the 'Is' was no verb. It was a noun, and a proper noun at that.

'Is' was short for Isabelle Howlson.

Isabelle's family wasn't poor. Her mother went to great lengths to drill that into her children's heads. They had food in the pantry, even if it wasn't particularly nice food. They had four walls and a roof, even if it wasn't very well-kept. That alone, as Mrs. Howlson insisted oft and anon, made them much richer than most mammals in the world. Besides that, they lived in Pine Forest, where hundreds of mammals came yearly for vacations or weekend getaways. They had a section of the famous Alpacallacian trail running almost through their back yard, while mammals with six-figure salaries paid top dollar for vacation rentals just to be near it.

She was, in all of this, very much inclined to overlook that they lived in a trailer park on the backside of Pine Forest, just a five-minute walk from a muddy junk yard. It somehow never came up that they bought at least half of their Christmas and birthday presents from secondhand stores. For that matter, she never did mention that she had to work two jobs, largely catering to those same tourists while they made no pause at making snobby remarks about yokels like her.

About the only thing that did seem to get under Mrs. Howlson's skin was the work it took to keep their little place going… at least until the day _he_ showed up at the door.

It was a typical afternoon. Mrs. Howlson was at the back of the trailer doing laundry. The two older members of the brood – James and Pamela – were on the couch, James playing a game he'd bought after weeks of bringing in stray carts at the supermarket, and Pamela sulking because she was grounded for missing curfew.

Isabelle, not particularly keen on either of their hobbies, was at the kitchen table thumbing through a book of clothing designs. That put her closest to the door when the knock came.

"Busy," chimed James.

"Not getting it," called Pamela.

With a sigh, Isabelle turned away from the dresses she'd never get to wear anyway and went to the door. "Who's there?" she called.

Whoever was outside hesitated. "Is this the Howlsons?" called a male voice.

Isabelle nodded and delivered an answer she'd learned from observation – and watching her sister back before Pamela got all adolescent. "Yeah, but if you're selling anything we're not interested, and we're already fine with our church, thanks." Actually they didn't go to church, but Pamela always said it was more effective than just telling them to buzz off.

"No, I'm not selling anything," the stranger coughed, "and this isn't about any church. Who am I talking to anyway?"

After a moment's consideration, Isabelle opened the door and looked up. Gazing down at her was a brownish wolf who looked uncannily familiar.

"My name's Isabelle," she introduced, being polite.

He stared at her for a moment, almost as if he were under some kind of magic spell or something. "Isabelle," he said quietly. Then, whatever was bugging him, he shook it off. "Um, could I have a talk with… um, with your mother, please?"

She nodded, getting an odd sense of deja vu about this wolf. He seemed nice enough, though. "Yeah, she might be a few minutes." Pointing to a cut-off section of tree trunk which served as one of several stools around a picnic table on the porch, she added, "You can sit over there. Who should I tell her you are?"

"Ah, thanks." He went over to the table, which actually needed a good cleaning. She noticed he didn't answer right away about his name. "Tell her Byron is here to see her."

Isabelle shut the door and went through the living room to the hall doorway. "Mom!" she called. "There's someone here to see you! He said his name's Byron!"

Falling laundry isn't the noisiest thing, but she caught the sound of it flumping to the floor anyway. "Byron?!" she echoed, sounding like she might be either angry or alarmed. A moment later the bathroom/washroom door opened and Mom stuck her head out. Judging by the flattened ears and slightly bared teeth, she was definitely in anger mode. "Did you say his name was 'Byron'?"

The cub nodded, cringing at the angry look on her mother's face. Behind her she could hear her sister utter an 'oh boy,' and turned to see Pamela cringing while James turned to look out the window onto the porch, game forgotten.

Mrs. Howlson came up the hall, her feet thudding on the carpet the whole way. "Stay inside, kids," she ordered firmly.

"What's going on?" asked Isabelle, confused as an acorn on a dogwood tree.

Her mother didn't answer, but went directly to the front door, opened it, and stared out for a moment. Then, with a swift move, she slid out onto the porch and slammed the door behind her.

An awful silence followed as Pamela glanced up nervously while James, looking rather sick, sat back on the couch and resumed his game.

"What's going on?" asked Isabelle. "Why's Mom so angry?"

Nobody answered at first. Then James answered glumly, "Let's just say she has issues with Dad."

It took Isabelle a moment to process this. "You mean that's _Dad_ out there?" she asked, stunned. She'd never met her father before. She knew she had one, of course, but she'd never met him and nobody ever talked about him. Having him show up… well, she didn't know what to think.

Slipping through the kitchen, she climbed up on a cabinet under a narrow window that opened out onto the porch. Even before she put her ear to the open window she could hear them arguing about how Dad had been gone for the past half-zillion years and now he wanted to make things right and how on earth was Mom supposed to believe that… and so on, and so on. Isabelle didn't know what to make of it. She was still stuck on the part where her long-lost father had decided to show up at all.

At last, Byron managed to get enough words in edgewise to plead, "At least let me take the three of you shopping, and out to eat." Then, seizing the surprised silence this bought him, he hastily added, "I owe you all that much."

Mom was silent for a moment longer before she rallied. "At _least,"_ she fairly spat, sounding almost as resentful of the penance itself as of the sin that occasioned it.

The mystique of this newcomer who was her father only grew for Isabelle when they saw his car out in their driveway. It wasn't exactly new, but it was in nicer shape than theirs. The door panels weren't loose, and it didn't have any stains on the seats or food wrappers on the floor.

Mom eyed it for a long moment before jerking a thumb towards her own car. "I'll drive," she said, eyeing her sometime mate distrustfully.

"Why do we have to-?" protested James.

She turned to him with a look that allowed no debate. "In," she ordered.

Byron took the shotgun seat, looking strangely sorrowful for someone heading to a family outing. All the same, he seemed willing to accept this sharp coldness from his children's mother. "I appreciate you giving me this chance," he offered, hoping to warm things up.

She glanced at him, then huffed. "Better be serious," she answered, starting the car.

As they drove, Byron made efforts to open up conversation with James and then Pamela. He kept glancing at Isabelle while he was doing so, however, and when those efforts fizzled he finally focused on her.

"You said your name was Isabelle, right?" he asked.

She nodded, but before she could have spoken if she wanted to her mother piped up from the driver's seat. "You weren't exactly on hand to help me choose a name."

His ears fell back. "I like Isabelle," he assured. His tone sounded… well, it was hard to find a word for it, but it sounded as though he was anxious to smooth over the she-wolf's testy temper – which, Isabelle knew, was no easy task.

When Mom softened her posture a little, Byron… no, Dad turned back to Isabelle. "Well, why don't you tell me about yourself?"

"Okay." She thought for a moment. "Like what?"

"Anything. Um, how old are you?"

"Six."

"Six," echoed Byron, looking thoughtful. "When's your birthday?"

"January 27th."

Byron scrunched his chin and did a tally on his claws.

"She's yours, hon," put in her mother, sounding very insincere calling him 'hon.' "I may have brought some baggage home, but there weren't any other mammals in my life to give you competition."

Isabelle felt slightly sick as her father's brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to make some reply. Then he stopped, bit his lip, and leaned his ears back.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. Then he turned back to the daughter he'd never met. "So, what kind of things do you like?"

"Cinderelephant," cut in James. "She's got a dozen books of it."

"I do not!" Isabelle protested. "I've got seven, and the one in Spanish doesn't count!"

"Yeah, but one of them's got the story in it six times, so that's twelve," James bit back. "If I have to hear it one more time before going to bed, I'll-"

Mom stomped on the brake, making the car lurch to a halt and drawing a loud honk from the driver behind them. "Now you two stop that right now!" she snapped, getting back into motion.

Byron coughed. "Sounds like you really like the story,"

"I like the dresses," she explained.

"Ah," he said slowly, taking this in. "Do you ever dress like Cinderelephant?"

"I made a costume last year for Howloween," she said brightly.

His eyebrows lifted. "Six years old and making your own costume?"

"She fixed up my old one," Pamela explained rather dismissively.

Isabelle soured at that. "I did a good job," she answered defensively.

Byron looked from one of them to the other, saying nothing. His expression was hard to read, save for his ears seeming on the limp side.

"Well, maybe we can get you a pretty dress today," he ventured, brightening. "Would you like that?"

He might as well have asked if she'd like raspberry ripple ice cream, which she'd had once or twice at class parties and decided was her absolute favorite. "Sure!"

* * *

It was pretty obvious Dad was trying to impress them when he took them to the restaurant. There was no counter for ordering food, but a waiter at the front who showed them to a table for five and then another who came along to give them menus and ice water. The tables had plain white cloth on them, and the wait staff all wore clean white shirts and black bow ties. The building was in a log cabin-style structure, and most of the patrons were nicely dressed.

"What's the price limit?" asked James, going over his menu.

Dad hesitated a moment. "Order what you want," he replied. "I've got enough catching up to do."

Mom eyed the menu, glanced at her mate, and then set a limit of ten dollars each. "There's plenty of nice food in that range," she remarked.

Isabelle glanced at her, then noticed the odd way she was looking at Dad. Was she warming up to him? Were her parents actually getting back together? The idea sounded strange, but on some deep, instinctive level she ached for it to happen like she'd never ached for anything in her whole life.

When the dishes arrived, everyone ate with gusto… except for Byron, who kept looking around at them as if trying to think of something to say or do. He seemed to feel out of place somehow, as if he'd forgotten how to eat with a family around him. Isabelle's mother would say later on that it was because he was probably used to eating in places like that and didn't notice good food when it was right in his mouth. Isabelle liked to think he didn't eat in places like that much, and was only doing it because he was with them.

After they had chowed down on an assortment of dishes – alligator steak, grilled salmon, ostrich cheeseburgers, and honeypot ants dipped in fondue for dessert – they got into the car again and headed off to Twin Pine Mall.

If the restaurant was a new experience, the mall was a deluge of them. Isabelle had been shopping with her mother before, of course, but as a rule only to grocery stores and thrift stores. When Byron promised to buy each of them something of their choice from any place but the jewelry store, Mom promptly said they should walk the length of the place to get some idea what they should buy before they went into any stores. To Isabelle, it was as magical as if they had been flown to Santa's village itself. The mall had a movie theater, a food court with ice cream, pizza, and cheese-dipped pretzels, a pet store, six toy stores, two gaming and electronics stores, a store for used games and movies, a store that sold fantastical statues and big picture blankets, and at least ten stores that sold nothing but clothes.

"Peel her off the glass before the epoxy sets," her brother cracked as Isabelle stared in a big wall-sized window at racks of dresses as thick as a forest, punctuated by tall shelves that loomed like castles. Naturally a lot of the dresses were sized for other species; some so small she might have used them for finger puppets, while others – even sized for infants – could have covered a canopy bed for her and still had skirt left over for the sheets. The array of colors and designs was better than a parade; no, six parades.

After walking through, James and Pamela had little trouble choosing their presents. Pamela made straight for a music store to snag herself a CD player and several CDs. James aimed for a gaming store and snagged a few new games for his GamePup. At both stops Mom objected that the deal had been one present each, but Byron talked her out of it.

"I brought enough money," he assured her at the game store, "and it's only right. I got Pamela more than one thing, right?"

"Well I'm trying to teach them not to take advantage," she argued. "I let the CDs go because the player's no good without them."

"Look, can we talk about this later?" he pleaded. "I'm trying to make this a good day, alright?"

"I'll just get one dress," Isabelle broke in, hoping to break up the argument. "Only one."

Both of the parents looked at her, and looking back later she wold suspect that they were divided between telling her not to interrupt when they talked and appreciating her simple, honest willingness to appreciate something little.

As they walked out of the store, Byron collided with a large orange-and-white striped bongo on her way in.

"Watch where you're going!" she snapped, scowling.

Byron raised his paws, at the same time sticking out a leg to nudge Isabelle back from getting in the ungulate's way. "Sorry," he placated, stepping back.

The bongo just frowned and patted her pocket as if to make sure it hadn't been picked, smiling as soon as her face was turned away.

* * *

Finding Isabelle's gift was a much longer process. Since she had promised to get only one dress, she wanted to be sure to get one that was absolutely perfect. It had to be beautiful, graceful, and go with her eyes and fur. Her mom insisted that it be durable and respectable; no see-through blouses or anything like that. Isabelle didn't mind those rules, as long as it sent her tormentors to the nurse's office sick with jealousy.

They searched through three stores trying to find the one dress that would turn her from Ragged Is into Princess Isabella of Pine Forest. Her brother and sister grew impatient waiting for her to make up her mind, and even her mother began to chafe at the bit. It was only by promising to wash the dishes when they got back – Mom's way, it was specified – that Byron managed to placate his other half and keep the peace going.

Even with the promise of a suds-free evening, Mom almost lost her patience when Isabelle stopped dead in her tracks on the way to the dress section of Bray-cy's to admire a pair of shoes. It was hard to blame the cub. They were just the right shape, made of a lattice of clear, flexible plastic with glitter suspended therein. It was as if they'd been personally flown to Isabelle by a real live fairy godmother.

"No," Mom insisted. "Nobody needs shoes unless they have to work somewhere special. You know that."

Byron looked as if he might say something, then laid a paw on Isabelle's back. "Come on, sweetie. Let's find you that dress."

As Isabelle looked through several racks, her siblings began to grow impatient. James pragmatically decided that if they found her dress sooner, they could go home sooner. So he began to search through the racks for dresses he thought Isabelle might like. The parents knew a good idea when they saw one and decided to join in the hunt, and it was Byron who after some minutes turned to Isabelle.

"How about this one?" he asked.

Isabelle turned to find him drawing one out of a rack as if he were bringing it out by magic. She couldn't hold back a squeal when she saw it. It was perfect! The top part was pink with puffy sleeves ending in lace, with a rounded purplish-blue star on the front. The skirt was of two or three layers; the bottom one white and the outer one or two translucent in stripes of pastel blue, pink, yellow, and purple. She nearly burst herself racing with it to the dressing rooms with the others in tow, and insisted on trying it on herself. When she had put it on and stood in front of the mirror, she could hardly believe her eyes. The dress was magic; she was sure of it. Before her very eyes she could see herself transformed. Her frumpy gray fur turned to polished silver. Her head was decked with a tiara; her feet with glass slippers. She turned this way and that to see how the dress moved and swayed, and could already see herself out on the dance floor. The dressing room became a ball room, its emptiness filling with other mammals. Theresa and the other snobs at school were off to the side staring open-mouthed. Her father and mother were standing with the nobles, together as they should be and looking on with pride. she was just getting to the dark, handsome prince when a knock came at the door.

"Can we go now?"

"Pamela, be patient!" Then a pause. "Isabelle, are you ready?"

The spell was broken, almost, but sh was still smiling as she stepped out and looked to them in turn. Her brother and sister were both impassive, which was no surprise. Her mother looked on thoughtfully, but seemed to approve - or at least not disapprove.

Last of all she looked up at her father. "What do you think?" she asked, turning in a slow circle.

He made a show of studying her, then smiled, "I think you look just like a princess," he approved.

She hadn't known him that long, but somehow that hardly seemed to matter. It was in that instant that she really went to thinking of him as "Daddy."

Her happy glow lasted all the way to the checkout counter.

"That's strange," Byron murmured, patting his pocket. His ears leaned back, and his face scrunched up in confusion.

"What's strange?" asked James.

Byron shoved a paw deep into the pocket in question. Next he tried the other, and then the back ones. "Did I give one of you my wallet?"

"Not me," answered James.

"Uh-uh," Pamela replied.

"No," said Isabelle.

Mom folded her arms. "We both know it wasn't me."

Byron clapped a paw to his forehead. "Oh, good grief. I must have left it back at the…" then he stopped, and his face took on the look of someone ill.

"I'll be right back!" he shouted, dashing to the back of the store and out into the main mall.

Isabelle looked up at her mother. "Where's he going?" she asked.

Mom looked puzzled, and annoyed. It was strange how much more her annoyed look stood out when, just minutes ago, she'd finally begun to look with something like acceptance at her sometime mate. "I don't know."

James snapped his fingers. "Pickpocket!"

* * *

Byron was back fifteen minutes later, a look of profound dismay etched on every feature. "It's not at the game store," he admitted. "I looked all along the way between and asked at the security office."

"I'll bet someone stole it!" James exclaimed. "I've heard about this stuff. They just bump into you and like that, your wallet's gone. It was probably that bongo-"

"Hey hey hey, we don't know it was her," Byron argued, motioning with his paws for the pup to settle down. "Although that was right between when I last had it and here."

Isabelle was getting anxious. "Then how are we going to buy my dress?" she asked.

"We'll buy it. We'll buy it," he promised, running a paw up over his scalp. "Okay, there's a bank just down the street. I'll get some money there and be right back, alright? Hon… uh, Abby," he amended, looking up at his children's mother, "could you hop over to the security office and ask them to try to find that bongo or anyone else who might have taken my wallet? You can hold onto the dress, right?" This last was directed to the cashier.

"Of course, sir," replied the rabbit by the register.

"Oh, thank you," he all but gasped.

The she-wolf seemed less satisfied, but she nodded. Regardless of how she felt about Byron, nobody ripped off her kids and got away with it; nobody.

Two hours in the security office later with no sign of Byron, it was starting to look like that might change.

"Well can't you do _something?"_ pressed Mrs. Howlson, growing impatient. They had managed to find the bongo on film, and the footage of her knocking into Byron. A subsequent tracking and backtracking proved that she had done this several times during the day, but none of the footage was clear enough to ID more than her species and sex… and the fact that she had left the mall shortly after robbing them.

The security officer, a large ram, raised his hooves helplessly. "I'm sorry to say it, ma'am, but it looks like she got clean away this time."

"What about outside cameras?" pressed James. "Can't you… you know, get her license plate or something? Heck, they can do that from orbit."

"Well, this is a mall, not the Secret Service," the ram replied. "Our cameras just aren't that sharp. I'm terribly sorry, but at this point there's not a whole lot we can do."

"Then what's the not a whole lot?" snapped Mom. She didn't know who to be angrier with just at the moment: The thief who had stolen her daughter's long overdue birthday-and-Christmas present, the wolf who had raised her hopes and then lost them without batting an eye and who was now taking forever to get back from the bank, or this security officer who was providing about as much security as a door stop.

The ram laid one hoof over the other, his air of patience rendered overly familiar by past experience. "Well, if your husband or any of the other victims – assuming we can catch any of them before they leave the mall – were carrying credit cards, we can have them notify the credit card companies so they'll keep an eye out for those cards. There's a chance we can catch her that way. It's nothing definite, but it's our only option."

"Can you get Daddy's money back today?" asked Isabelle, her hopes teetering on the brink of collapse.

Any answer that needed saying was uttered by the look in the ram's rectangle-pupiled eyes. "I'm sorry, kiddo, but I think you'll have to come back another day."

Isabelle was devastated. "But he was going to buy me a dress…"

Her mother picked her up, anticipating what was to come. Truth to tell she felt like throwing off an outburst herself, but someone had to be the grown-up. "Thanks for your time," she said in a tone which conveyed little appreciation but more than she had room for at the moment. "You have our number?"

"Yes, and we will contact the other victims and notify you just as soon as something comes up, I promise."

"But my dress," whined Isabelle.

Her mother left as quickly as dignity allowed, and managed to get out of the security office just as the sobs began.

* * *

It's not easy waiting for someone in a crowded mall, especially not when you've already been there for two hours and there's a child next to you crying her eyes out. The circumstances leading up to it, together with the sight of mammals all around going about their middle-and-higher-class lives like there was nothing wrong, looking with varying shades of pity, annoyance, or disdain at the sobbing youngster and her beleaguered mother, made it all but unbearable. For a change of pace, her siblings actually shared her misery to some extent. Pamela suddenly had no heart to even take out her music player or discs, and James couldn't even look at his GamePup. They waited and waited on some benches just inside the door of the store where the dress remained, until at last Mom could take it no longer.

"We'd better get home," she muttered, fishing out her car keys.

Isabelle was aghast. "But my dress!" she protested.

Mom laid a hand on her head. "We'll come back for it another day… if we can," she promised. "Maybe we can go shopping with By… with Dad again, alright?"

"How's Dad going to get back to our house without us?" asked Pamela, frowning. "Didn't he leave his car there?"

"It's not that far. He can take the bus – or walk if he has to." Mom was close to losing her temper again, and she didn't want to let it loose on her kids. "Now come on. We have to go."

Feeling like she had been punched in the stomach, Isabelle looked forlornly towards the registers as they left, keeping her eyes trained as long as possible on the one behind which lay her princess dress. It was too much; just plain too much. All her life she had wanted to look pretty – or even just normal. All her life she had wanted a dress that was _hers._ Now she had seen it, touched it, _worn_ it… and it was gone; snatched away by some thoughtless stranger before it was even hers.

Strangely enough, it wasn't even the dress that hurt the most. The part of it all that eclipsed every other pain was simple enough: where was her father? The only place she saw him was in her mind's eye, fading right when she wanted most to jump into his arms and never leave.

It should do her no disservice to say that she really did cry the whole way home.

* * *

It was clear that Isabelle's mother did feel bad for her, because well after James and Pamela had gone to bed she indulged her, sitting on the couch reading a story about three children who seemed forever visited by bad people and worse luck. Isabelle didn't care much for the story, but she had no heart for Cinderelephant that night and knew that if she went to bed she would dream of beautiful clothes that would never be hers.

They were in the midst of a chapter about flesh-eating leeches when Isabelle thought of something more pressing than even the dress, however.

"How come you and Dad don't live together?" she asked.

Her mother stopped reading and stared at her. "What?"

"Why's he always gone?" Isabelle pressed. "Don't you love each other?"

It was a strange thing to ask, especially with the way Mrs. Howlson had reacted earlier that same day to the very mention of Byron's name. Pausing under her daughter's expectant gaze, she closed the book with a sigh.

"Isabelle, don't get your hopes up about that man. He's not... well, he changes. One day he's the best wolf in the world, the next he's gone off to who-knows where probably with... well, I'd rather not talk about it now. If I really thought he was dependable I'd give him another chance, but don't expect him to just come home and make everything hunky-dory, alright?"

Isabelle's heart sank at her mother's words. She wanted to speak up and defend her father; say that no, he was changed and he really would stay... but the words wouldn't come.

Her mother picked her up. "It's time for bed."

They were halfway across the living room when a knock sounded at the door.

"Daddy?!" asked Isabelle, ears shooting up.

Her mom froze, then put her down - not hard, but decisively. "You stay put," she ordered, striding back to the door.

Isabelle waited tensely as it opened.

"Well, at least you-"

"Honey, I'm so sorry."

Silence hung in the air. Isabelle almost forgot how to breathe in the pause.

"Really, I didn't mean to take so long, but it took forever to get someone at the bank who would recognize me without my driver's license."

Isabelle could see her mother biting her lip. "I guess I can understand that," she said in resignation.

Byron sounded like he was biting his lip too. "Well, I know it's late, but... is Isabelle still up?"

Isabelle had to restrain herself from running forward as her mother looked towards her and slowly nodded. "Come on," she called wearily.

Isabelle ran to the door and found her father on the porch looking about ready to drop. but a weight seemed to fall off his shoulders at the sight of her.

"Hey, kiddo," he greeted, dropping to his knees and wrapping her in a hug. "I'm sorry. I really am."

For a moment she didn't know what to do. Then, slowly, she put her arms around him as far as they'd go. "It's okay," she said quietly, suddenly not even caring about the bag in her paw.

It would have been nice if they could just stay that way forever, but they didn't. After a long moment, Daddy pulled himself away and held out the bag. "Better late than never," he offered. "I got the shoes too... you know, to be fair."

Isabelle took the bag quietly and looked him in the eyes. "Will you come back?" she asked.

He sighed quietly. "Yes," he promised. He didn't have to even say the word 'promise.' His voice said it all. Then he leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. "But right now I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow when I drop by to do the dishes."

Above Isabelle, her mother gave a quiet huff. "You were serious."

Byron stood up. "I know I have a lot to make up for, to all four of you, and I know you've got plenty of reason not to trust me, but I'm serious about all of this, I swear. I'm going to start fresh this time."

He and his wife regarded one another for a long, long time, broken only when Isabelle dropped the bag and wrapped herself around his leg.

"Alright, alright," he said, almost chuckling as he peeled her off. "Off to bed with you, alright? Mommy and Daddy need to talk alone now."

Isabelle picked up the bag and dashed off to bed, feeling as if her feet had grown wings. This time would be different; she knew it.

Of course, only time would tell for sure.

**And they all lived… well, let's face it, we know that's not the whole story, but at least Isabelle is happy… for now. What lies ahead for her family, however? Will her father prove to be the knight in shining armor she's been waiting for, or the inept friend who falls short when the troubles hit? Clearly there's more ahead, but most of it is unanswered questions.**

**Writing Isabelle's character for this was an interesting experiment for me in a number of ways. I ended up working backwards from what she was like as an adult in _Something Stinks:_ a good heart and a knack for wardrobe, but rather on the sharp and touchy side. Adding in a troubled family life and tough finances made her a bit easier for me to connect to her as a character, and the rest is history – or her story, I guess, but why be picky?**

**Two other notes worth mentioning. One is that the title comes from the song "Cinderella," by Steven Curtis Chapman, ironically about a father/daughter relationship far mor functional than this one. The other is that I must apologize to dispix94, whom I told that I planned to use at least one character from the movie and/or preceding concepts in each chapter or fic. Alas, when I put it all together I just couldn't see my way to fitting one in here, though I did consider making Dawn Bellwether one of Isabelle's antagonists. I can promise one in Nicole's childhood chapter, and perhaps the next one, which is slated to be Vanya Zarra. Brace yourselves for that one; should be a real twist.**

**So, what did you all think of this chapter? Feel free to post your thoughts, and I'll try to post more as soon as possible.**


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